


Bread and Blood

by HermineKurotowa



Series: Bread and Blood verse [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Jensen Ackles, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Drugging, Facials, Forced Orgasm, Handcuffs, Hooker Jensen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Porn, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermineKurotowa/pseuds/HermineKurotowa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a nice guy. He's kind and attentive, and there's a room in his apartment for his cats and bunnies he's occasionally feeding from. He works as a hooker for Frederic Lehne though he's badass when it comes to defending his ass against sleazy clients. That's one of the secrets he wants to tell his boyfriend Jared but he never has occasion to do it before he gets seriously hurt. A furious Jensen - even when naked - is something you better don't want to witness.</p><p>A little wooden toy cowboy is all Jared has left from his family. He falls for Jensen head over heels and even comes to terms with him working the streets - it makes for the best blow jobs, after all. Unfortunately, he will not get to know his other, bigger secret in this story - being shot at and lying in a coma is pretty obstructive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bread and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_j2_bigbang. It was my first time, but definitely not my last. A big thank you to wendy for hosting this great challenge. Also thank yous to my alphas somersault_j and junkerin for encouraging, cheerleading, and generally being awesome. Thank you to my beta debauchedsock who made my fic readable and never got tired of my grammar. You rock, lady! All remaining mistakes are my own, and I'm going to keep them.
> 
> I was incredibly lucky that the brilliant m14mouse claimed me. Check out her beautiful art.

  
  
**Chapter 1 - Jared**  
  
On a Saturday at five a.m., Jared sees the strange man walking through the backyard, carrying a small box. He's seen him from before but never knew that he was a neighbor. He knows now, seeing him from his living room window on the third floor crossing the backyard and entering the apartment building through the back door.   
  
The man is wearing a dark, tight t-shirt and pants – maybe jeans – just as tight, and Jared's first thought at the view of the man's skin gleaming softly in the pale light of dawn is how it's milky-white. The second is that it must be soft to the touch.   
  
Blushing, Jared stifles other thoughts and buries his nose in his tea cup. He has been officially gay for two days and there's no need for rushing things. Alright, maybe he is not completely gay but enough to break it off with Vanessa.   
  
That's the reason for his drinking tea at five in the morning. He lay awake the whole night, his stomach in a twist, thinking of Vanessa, and the tears, and the fights they didn't have.   
  
_She knew and hoped nevertheless_ .   
  
Besides, it would be unfai r, keeping up a relationship when h e was working two, sometimes three jobs, dragging around heavy baggage and never having a minute's rest. Vanessa is a great woman, she deserves someone better than him.   
  
He finishes his tea and decides to leave early for work. Mr Kim will be pleased that he can help open the little grocery store, and Jared will be able to leave early and be on time for his shift at Jeff's restaurant. Tonight he also has a couple of hours in Jeff's _Lido Nights,_ waiting tables. He will be dead on his feet, but the tips will make up for his back aches.   
  
Picking up his keys, Jared pauses. Maybe that's the reason all those guys tip him so generously.   
  
_They knew you're gay – well, not completely straight – and you didn't_ . He snorts derisively.   
  
He grabs his jacket and leaves his apartment, letting the door shut behind him with a soft click.

 

  


  
Jared was right. At midnight, he has a backache and sore feet but the tips are excellent.

The club is bursting at the seams. There are three stag parties, and Jared is juggling bottles and glasses. It's crowded with thirsty guys and a few semi-nude girls because stag parties and strippers come together like tequilas and hangovers. There are probably even some hookers in the crowd but he has no time to bother.

He needed a bathroom break fifteen minutes ago and has to go right now, so when he finally catches a glimpse of Cindy, he grabs her and just says the code word: “Five.”

As soon as she answers with a nod, Jared is fighting his way through the crowd, heading for the back of the club. He reaches the restrooms at the last moment, finally relieving himself with a deep sigh.

The _Lido Nights_ is one of the better clubs in town. It's not a gay club per se, but from time to time, there are those guys that cannot wait to take their male hook-ups to _your place or mine_. Because of that, Jared is not too fazed by the sounds coming from the last stall, the occasional rustling and moaning.

_At least someone's having some fun_ , he thinks, standing at the sink and splashing some water in his face. Though the bar is busy, and the lounge and dance floor are crowded with dancing, sweating, flirting people, it's this specific kind of _fun_ that Jared envies.

When he hears the stall door open and watches them through the mirror above the sink, he sees one of the guys leaving the restroom. Actually, all he can see is the guy's dirty blonde hair, his incredible ass in a pair of tight jeans and his hand pocketing a wad of cash.

_If I had the money, I'd pay to tap that, too_. Jared thinks appreciatively.

Immediately after, he's embarrassed by his thoughts. As if his libido is pushed to new heights by the realization of his gayness... not completely straight-ness.

The other guy is still in the stall, moaning. It doesn't sound like the good kind of moaning so Jared thinks about giving the bouncers a shout. Or calling 911. Then thinks it might be better to check if everything is in order before calling in the cavalry.

He knocks on the stall door and calls out, “Hey, you okay in there?”

There's no answer to Jared's question so he opens the door. The young man on the stall's floor seems to be really out of it, judging by his dilated pupils and manic grin. Jared deliberately doesn't look at his crotch where his limp dick is hanging out, the pants stained with evidence of his earlier activities, his efforts causing him to miss the drops of blood on the tiles.

“Hey, you okay?” Jared asks again.

The other man smiles, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Tha' wuss ohsome, dude!” he slurs.

  


  
Today is family day. Jared wears his best jeans – no holes at the knees – and a blue button-down. It's a nice spring day, and he enjoys the thirty minute ride on his bike. He even buys some tulips for his mom though, technically, he has no money to spare.

The sun is warm on his skin, kissing the tips of his ears and the backs of his hands on the handlebars. Everywhere birds are chirping and chattering, enjoying the day and life in general.

After securing his bike, Jared enters the cemetery, walking to his family's graves.

Some daisies are blossoming on his mom's grave, and the bouquet of red tulips looks nice between them on the green grass. Jared settles down on the ground, his forearms on his knees, his posture relaxed. It's easier now after more than two years to keep his composure, to not tear up or collapse on the ground.

“Hey, mom.” he says. “Sorry I couldn't come earlier. I was at dad's last weekend, and then I had to work.

“Mr Kim gave me steaks this week. 'They'll go off soon,' he said but they were good until Thursday. He's such a nice man, Mr Kim, you would love him. He's thinking about moving to stay with his daughter though because his arthritis is getting worse. I hope I can still work at the grocery store when he sells it.”

Jared sighs.

“I know you'd understand why I ditched Vanessa. But yesterday, her friend Mireille was at the shop, and she was so... She yelled at me. In French. She was pretty pissed. She didn't believe that I never wanted to hurt her. But how can I live with a girl that I don't love?

“No, mom. I love her but not the way she deserves to be loved. I'll have to look for Mr Right, I think. Though I don't expect him to be out there, waiting for me.

“This is such a mess. All I ever wanted was a nice girl and a home. Now I think I'd prefer staying alone for the rest of my life. And of course I know I'm not serious.” Another sigh. “It's just... I don't know what to do. I wish... I wish I could ask you. Or dad. I wish I could sit in our old kitchen, drinking hot chocolate. You'd make cookies and tell me what to do.

“I miss you so much. All of you.”

There it is, the tear drop, rolling down his cheek, falling onto the grass, disappearing.

  


  
A couple of weeks later Jared is sitting on a stone bench in the backyard. Again, it's five a.m. and again, he can't sleep. The news his father's nurse gave him the other day was disturbing, and now he's seeking solace in the run-down garden and rising sun. Jared is paid to work as a part-time janitor, not a gardener, and apparently, the owner of the apartment building doesn't bother to maintain the backyard with its little garden. Sometimes, he itches to tidy it up though, to take care of the roses and make them bloom, but there's just no time left.

The little toy cowboy in his hands is heavy with the burden of memories. His father carved it out of wood for his birthday. Jared found it when he cleared his parents' house and kept it.

He is playing with the little wooden man, imagining being a seven-year-old boy with no worries, his little sister and his big brother splashing about the swimming pool, his dad kissing his mom. _Good times_.

It's all gone.

He closes his eyes. _They're all gone._

Hearing soft footfalls approaching him, Jared opens his eyes. There's a pair of feet in front of him, wearing flip-flops. Looking up, he sees a pair of naked shins in tight jeans, a tight black t-shirt, green eyes. _God, they're green like moss_. Milky-white skin.

Jared's libido is perking up. Along with his dick. Traitors, both of them.

“Hey”, the intruder says. “You live here? I thought I'd be the only one awake at the ass-crack of dawn.”

“Hey”, Jared answers, straightening up. “Yeah, in 3C. Just couldn't sleep, that's why I came down here.”

“It's nice and quiet here at this time. By the way, I'm Jensen.” Holding a little box in one hand, he reaches out with the other one.

“Jared.”

They shake hands. Jensen's skin is pale, cool and soft.

“What's in there?” Jared asks pointing to the box.

“Hmm? Oh. Nothing, it's... nothing.”

Apparently, something is in that box because Jared can hear a faint scratching. Jensen blushes, a pale pink on his freckled cheeks that Jared finds endearing.

Jared grins. “You know that there are no pets allowed?”

Jensen grins back. “There are no _dogs_ allowed. It says nothing about bunnies.”

“You have a bunny in there?” Jared says, not hiding his surprise very well, the guy... Jensen doesn't look like a bunny lover.

Jensen's visibly abashed. “Uh, yeah. It's a, uh, birthday present. For my little sister.”

Jared smiles. “She'll love it.”

“Yeah. Uhm, you know. I gotta go. I just got off work, I'm more than ready for bed. See you around!” With a little wave, Jensen's off to the north wing's backdoor.

With a groan, Jared's head drops into his hands. He forgot to ask for Jensen's apartment number! There are twenty apartments in the north wing, he's unlikely to knock on every single door to find him again. Maybe he could ask the facility manager, but then he would have to say why he was looking for Jensen.

_Crap_. He himself doesn't even know why he'd like to see the man again.

 

  
Vanessa's waiting for him when he leaves the cemetery.

The visit today was... exhausting. It's Julie's seventeenth birthday. He made a little paper bird for her, leaving it on her grave. She would have liked it, that is, the little fourteen-year-old girl would have liked it. Today, though, she'd be a beautiful young lady, and Jared tries to imagine how she would look like now.

Vanessa is as gorgeous as always, wearing jeans and a blouse. “Jared,” she says, smiling.

“Vanessa. Hey.” he replies, surprised. “How are you?”

“I'm fine.” Putting a hand on his arm, she continues, “I want to apologize for Mireille. She told me the other day she met you, and I think she was pretty... harsh.”

“You don't need to. It's alright,” he says, squeezing her hand in confirmation.

“No, it's not. She's my friend. I didn't ask her to go see you and yell at you. I want you to know that I'm not mad at you, not any more. I think... I think I appreciate that you told me about your feelings when you did. It would've been way more painful if we'd gotten invested in our relationship, and then...”

Jared is a grown man, he never tears up. It's the sun shining directly into his eyes that makes them overflow.

“Vanessa...”

“It's okay, Jared. I still care about you, you're a nice guy, and I was happy to be your girlfriend. But I won't force you to love me. Take care.”

Giving him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, she turns, walking to her car.

 

  
Today had been awful. A little girl puked in the dairy products aisle, the mother was blushing with shame, but it was Jared who cleaned the floor. And it was Jared again cleaning the floor in front of the potato chips when a drunk guy smashed a sixpack.

On the other hand, Mr Kim gave him half a dozen yogurts and a bag of fruits – there was even a pineapple – so Jared is happily heading home. Approaching the main entrance of his apartment building, he notices movements in the dooryard's shrubs – and some cussing.

Descending from his bike, he asks, “Are you looking for something?”

Jumping, the man amid the shrubs swings around, staring wide-eyed at Jared. It's that guy, Jensen, looking hot in his low-riding jeans and an obviously well-loved t-shirt. His face is flushed with embarrassment, making his freckles stand out like cinnamon-colored speckles. Oh God, _freckles speckles_.

Jared wants to count them. And then lick them. Every single one.

“Fuck, you trying to kill me?”

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. So, are you looking for something? Can I help?”

Jensen flushes some more. “Uhm, no. Thanks, I'm, uh. I...”

Jared can see Jensen caving in even before he admits, sighing, “My cat ran away. She's small, and black, and...”

Pointing to the roadside tree a little further on, Jared says, “Do you mean that small, black cat sitting in that big, green tree?”

Turning around, Jensen stares into the tree. Between the bright green spring foliage, there's a tiny little kitten sitting on a branch, glaring at the men.

“Oh, there you are,” Jensen mutters, stepping closer to the tree and reaching out with his hands. The cat, though, has a different agenda, forcing Jensen to withdraw his hand with a blow of sharp claws, hissing.

“Ow!”

Stifling a laugh, Jared approaches the tree. “Come here, kitty”, he says, and the cat comes. No claws, no hissing, just Jared's big hands encasing soft, black fur.

“If I had to guess, I'd say she doesn't like you.” he laughs, petting the animal and looking up from under his bangs.

“I guess not.” Jensen says, sucking on his scratched finger. He's... _pouting_.

Jensen is definitely pouting, looking so hurt because his cat doesn't like him, and all Jared wants to do is to pet and comfort him. Maybe lick his finger a little bit, too. Or his...

“Look, I don't mind bringing the kitty back to your place. Since she doesn't want to be held by you, obviously,” Jared says with a teasing grin. ”If you would just attach my bike to the pole?”

Once that's done, they enter the north wing and take the stairs to Jensen's apartment on the fourth floor.

Jared doesn't mind. Usually, he takes the elevator because he has to haul his bike to his apartment on the third floor, but he really doesn't mind climbing the stairs right behind Jensen, definitely not because he got to ogle the nice butt in front of him.

The kitten is purring in Jared's arm. She's warm, her breath ghosting over his skin, reminding him how much he wishes for a pet of his own. A dog, maybe two, if he had the time and money.

Jensen's apartment is... white. White walls, white furniture, worn with use, the sole spots of color some cushions and a quilt on the couch. There are books, DVDs and CDs stacked on the living room floor and, in a corner, some boxes. Obviously, Jensen bought some shelves that he hasn't assembled yet.

Gingerly, Jensen opens a room door slightly, looking inside.

“Put her in here,” he says, and Jared sets her down in the room where she sashays proudly, tail erect, towards her bed, sitting down and cleaning herself.

Amazed, Jared looks around. It's a pet's paradise. There are scratching posts, cushions and toys for the three cats and big cages for the four, no, five bunnies.

He can't stifle the smile that emerges. _His sister's birthday present, my ass_.

Jensen is closing the door, looking embarrassed.

Jared can't resist rubbing it in. “No dogs, I see,” he says grinning.

“Yeah. Uhm, thanks. For your help. Do you want a beer?”

The question throws Jared. And Jensen. Embarrassed, flushed, _adorable_ Jensen trying to change the subject throws Jared so far that he's completely out of his depth. There's clearly only one answer to that question.

“Sure. Thanks.”

_Damn it, not that one._

They end up playing Xbox, eating PB&J sandwiches and the pineapple from Jared's backpack. It's been a long time since he had so much fun. Vanessa was not really into console games, so their dates were movies and dining out, and though Vanessa never wanted anything fancy, it still was too much for Jared's tight budget.

Jensen's dry-witted and shy, but there's a kind of vitality and power thrumming beneath the surface, something Jared can't quite put his finger on. As it is, he would like to put his fingers all over Jensen, ruffling his hair, sliding them beneath that tight t-shirt. When it's time to get ready for work, Jared is jolly glad to leave, otherwise he'd be jumping Jensen's bones, that's for sure.

All the way to his bike, he is grinning like an idiot. Being not completely straight is awesome when you have somebody like Jensen to crush on. And Jared is crushing on Jensen's body, on his green, green eyes, his incredible lashes, and those freckles all over his face and down his neck.

The realisation hits Jared when he's unchaining his bike: He's agreed to another evening of playing Xbox next week. And he's looking forward to it.

  


  
It is a lazy day, only one customer in front of the detergent shelf comparing the brands. Felicia is manning the checkout counter, her elbows perched on the edge, and Jared's cleaning the coffee machine. Funny, how much of his time at work is spent cleaning.

His co-worker is chewing bubble gum and the bubbles she blows keep sticking to her nose. She is eyeing the old lady warily. Maybe ugly cardigans are contagious, what does Jared know?

Stuffing the gum back in her mouth, she says, “Maybe you should just go for him.”

Distracted by the milk stains on the machine's stainless steel front, Jared says, “What?”

The pink gum threads prettily between her delicate fingers. “You know, that handsome boy of yours. Just jump his bones.”

The cleaning rag falls from Jared's fingers. He turns, staring. “What gave you the idea... Why do you think I'd want to jump a guy?”

“Oh, that's easy. You're _pining_.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You're over the moon. This whole week it's been 'pretty boy said, pretty boy did'. Even Mr Kim noticed.”

Jared blushes a deep red. “That's not... bullshit. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“You think? I've got a big brother. Every week another girl, I tell you, I know what pining looks like. And crushing on someone.” The gum pops loudly. The lady customer looks over, a surly frown on her face, as she moves on to the dairy products.

Picking up the rag and scrubbing the coffee machine with renewed vigour, Jared says, “I just ditched Vanessa. I'm still... grieving or something. I'm not interested in another relationship. Least of all with a guy.”

“Well.” Another bubble pops. “All I'm saying is Vanessa is old news, and you act like an idiot in love. _I_ don't mind whether you crush on a guy or a girl, but if you have a problem with it, well, that's your problem.”

Suddenly, she is sucking the gum into her mouth, straightening up to thrust out her breasts that are admittedly quite nice. “Hello, gorgeous.” she murmurs seductively.

“Uhm, hello, ma'am. Hello, Jared,” a familiar voice says. Turning, Jared sees Jensen standing in front of the counter.

“Hi Jensen. What are you doing here?” he asks, putting the rag down and wiping his hands on his jeans. Suddenly, the store feels stifling.

“Oh, I just had a really... bad day at work. I'm in need of a friendly face now and thought I'd meet you here.” He looks expectantly at Felicia.

“Sorry, where are my manners? Jensen, this is Felicia, my co-worker. Felicia, Jensen, my... friend.”

“Hello, frrriend.” Felicia purrs.

“Nice to meet you.” Jensen's smile is like the sun on a cloudy day. Jared's stomach tightens in knots coiling low in his belly. He wants to bathe in that smile. _Naked_. When it's directed at him, it takes a surprising amount of effort to pull himself together, and not melt into a puddle.

“Maybe... maybe you'd like to go have a coffee? With me?”

That hopeful smile is difficult to resist. “I'd like to but...”

“But of course you can go now. Misha is due here in ten, and I think I can manage until then.” Felicia makes shooing motions, shoving Jared away from the counter.

“You really-”

“Yes. Now go with your lover boy.”

Jared's blush is mirrored on Jensen's face.

  


  
A few minutes later they're sitting in a nice little coffeehouse, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches and éclairs.

“I apologize for Felicia. She's been trying to set me up for weeks and she's really convinced that I... I mean, that me and you...” Trailing off, Jared stares at his coffee mug which is quite ugly.

Jensen chuckles. “So she's convinced that there's a 'me and you'?”

Jared shrugs.

“Would you like it if there was a 'me and you'?”

Still staring at his mug, Jared traces circles on the tabletop with his finger. “Well... yes. I think.”

“That's good. Me too.” Putting a hand on top of his, Jensen smiles when Jared looks up. His green eyes are... _green_.

“Uhm.” Jared clears his throat. He needs to come clean with his potential boyfriend. “I'm... I need to...” He sighs. _Damn, this is hard_. “I just broke up with my girlfriend a few weeks ago, and I'm still not quite sure about... my sexuality. About being gay. I mean...”

Jensen grins. “It's okay. We can take it slow. One step at a time, okay?”

Sighing with relief, Jared nods his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Jensen squeezes Jared's hand. “Now I want to be honest with you, too. I have some secrets. Actually, pretty dark ones. Not a serial killer, but I can't spill the beans yet.”

_How bad could his secrets be when he's willing to admit having them?_

“That's alright. We've only just met, I think we both need some time to get to know each other. I don't expect you to tell me everything right now.”

“Great. Now, do you want another éclair? My treat.”

  


  
Maybe it's a thing, sitting in the garden at five a.m. Today, though, Jared's sitting on the bench with Jensen.   
  
With so many thoughts on Jared's mind, his night was sleepless. He's still reeling from the previous day's _date_ , and the thought of fresh morning air and feeling the rays of dawn on his face is more tempting than his cold and lonely sheets. Then Jensen, on his way home from his work as a waiter, is standing before him, casting a shadow over him, smiling like another sun.  
  
They greet each other with a kiss, timid and tender, and they sit side by side, Jensen holding Jared's hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. After talking about weather, work and other trivial stuff, the subjects get more serious.  
  
“When I was just a few weeks into college...” Jared sighs. “My family decided to visit for Christmas. We had a few wonderful days, but on their way home... there was an accident. A guy, Julius Vanderbilt, thought it was a good idea to commit suicide by driving on the wrong lane of the highway. He collided head-on with my father's car.   
  
“My mom, my sister and brother died on impact. My dad's been in a coma ever since. Julius survived severely injured. He's now in a wheelchair.”  
  
It's not the first time Jared told his story. The reactions he got ranged from 'You poor boy' to 'It's been two years, pull yourself together and move on'.   
  
Jensen remains silent. His hand, however, squeezes Jared's in reassurance. Jared sniffs softly but he doesn't shed tears, doesn't want to show how weak he is, when he's only just met the other man. Then again, he wants to lean into that warm body, rest his head and soul against Jensen's. He just wants some rest, only for a little while because he's so tired.  
  
And he is angry. He is furious with that guy who wanted to die and survived. Julius killed his family who wanted to live because he was too chicken to go alone. Jared is so furious, he wants to bang his head against a wall. But it wouldn't change a thing, so he refrains.  
  
Jensen clears his throat. “I, uhm. Sometimes I wish my parents were dead, it would be easier. They never paid attention to me. I went to a boarding school until my dad lost his job. When he started drinking and fighting with my mom, it was like I was the invisible man. I was there but he didn't see me.”  
  
When there is a break, Jared pipes up. “You know, you don't have to tell me.”  
  
“No, I _need_ to. It's made me what I am. But I can't tell the whole story, not yet. Maybe later. There's just too much...”  
  
“It's okay. Anything you tell me, or aren't ready to, is okay.”   
  
Right now, at this moment, Jared is content. He's sitting on the bench in their backyard, facing the rising sun, Jensen's body heat seeping through their clothes. He's content and happy that Jensen's confiding in him.  
  
“Mom had to start working, and I think she hated dad in the end. They had to give up their country club membership, sell the cars and abandon the mansion. I didn't care. I'd have lived in a box if it meant my dad would talk to me.  
  
“I played truant because nobody cared. I did drugs for a while, and they didn't care. When I was eighteen I pretty much lived on the street. They never searched or asked for me. Then I met a guy who fucked me up. I thought I loved him but he fucked me up completely. It took me years to bounce back.”  
  
Jensen sighs. “Well, seems like life dealt us both some shitty hands.”  
  
They remain silent for a beat, then Jared says, “But we're still playing.” 

 

  
Sometimes, Felicia is downright scary. It's not her glaring at people or threatening guys who hit on her, it's more her uncanny ability to read people.   
  
With his cheap mobile phone, Jared took a photograph of Jensen, the sunlight a halo behind his blond hair. He showed it to Felicia after she threatened to dunk him in the floor bucket, and she's swooning over Jared's 'cutie pie boyfriend'.   
  
Jared's embarrassed, he can feel a blush rising and coloring his ears pink.  
  
On his way to restock the tinned vegetables, taking a look at the photo, Misha asks, “You into underage hookers now?”  
  
Jared freezes. “What do you mean?”  
  
Felicia glares daggers at Misha who innocently says, “I was heading for my friend, Chris's, place yesterday and drove through 10th, you know, where the hookers are. That boy there was obviously selling, you know, himself.”  
  
There's not enough air in the store, Jared can't breathe.   
  
_Jensen's a_ waiter _, not a prostitute._  
  
Felicia's protective instinct takes over. “You wanna tell me you drove through 10th by pure chance? Didn't wanna buy a nice piece of ass for yourself, did you?”  
  
Misha's blushing crimson. “Felicia, you know I'd never... you know. 10th Street is a shortcut to Chris'. Really, it is.”  
  
The sound of his blood is deafening in Jared's ears. He needs to get out, needs to get some air. Needs to ask Jensen. Yes, he said he had secrets, but Jared would never have thought of... something this big.   
  
He admitted to having done drugs, so if the secret was about drugs... or his ex-boyfriend... But prostitution?  
  
Uttering an excuse to his co-workers, Jared shoves the backdoor open, stepping out into the alley behind the store where the dumpsters are. Misha and Felicia's bickering is fading as the door closes behind him. Leaning with his back against it, he takes a deep breath.  
  
The air smells like smoke.  
  
There's some noise at the dumpsters caused by two men who are obviously tampering with one of them. They don't seem to be homeless because they don't dart off when Jared approaches.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing?”  
  
Both men face him with a menacing stance. Not homeless guys, but gang members. “You better bugger off, kid.”  
  
Jared snorts. “Really? You're calling me _kid_?”   
  
They're both half his size and even younger than him. But they just set the dumpster on fire, and one of them is brandishing a gigantic knife.  
  
“Alright, I'm gonna call the fire department. You get out of here, and nobody gets hurt.”  
  
“Oh, you think so?” the boy says, thrusting his weapon forward.   
  
Jared dodges the knife, but there is no way he can dodge the two-by-four the other boy's wielding. The blow hits his knees. He can block another stab from the knife from hitting his torso, slicing his hand open, but he can't fend off the blow with the two-by-four to his back that brings him down.   
  
There is a loud crack, and Jared thinks it's the sound of a pole breaking, but pain blooms from the back of his head. The world is tilting, fading out, until there's nothing left but darkness.  
  


  


  
The world is a loud place, too loud and too bright. That's why Jared chooses to keep his eyes shut and sleep some more.  
  
The next time, the world is less loud, but still too bright, so he contemplates with his eyes shut whether he has a headache or not. Inside his skull, there's a funny kind of pressure, like cotton in a too small container. It doesn't hurt, but it's kind of annoying.  
  
Jared deduces from the smell of antiseptic and the constant beeping of machines that he's in a hospital.  
  
That's strange. He was in the store, cleaning, as always. And then there was... what? _What happened?_  
  
Jared opens his eyes, asking the universe, “What happened?”  
  
“Oh good, finally,” a familiar voice answers. “I'm going to tell the nurse that you're awake.”  
  
Jared turns his head to one side where a little old man sits in a plastic chair, reaching for the call button.  
  
“Mr Kim, please. What happened?”  
  
Jared's employer hesitates. Clearing his throat, he says, “You've had a run-in with some gang members. They tried to get rid of some stuff by burning it in one of the dumpsters behind my store. Unfortunately, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, they hurt you.”  
  
“But... I don't remember.”  
  
“That's the concussion, I think. Let me get the nurse and the doctor, you can ask them.”  
  
The doctor is a large ginger-haired man with a friendly grin and a strange name that Jared forgets immediately after he leaves the room.  
  
“Looks good,” he says after a thorough examination of Jared's sore body, reading his chart and writing on it. “We had to stitch up the cut on your left hand, but it's only shallow. There will be only minimal scarring, if you keep it nice and clean. You have a moderate concussion with no complications, so you can go home in two days. And the amnesia is only temporary, I'm sure you will remember everything in a few days.”  
  
His face is splitting in half with a big, toothy grin. “You've been damn lucky, lad.” He pats Jared's shoulder. “Now I'm gonna leave you to your friends. They've been waiting anxiously to see you. That pretty redhead is quite a force of nature, as it seems.”  
  
The doctor clears his throat. “Do you know... I mean... is she... uhm, single?”  
  
Jared's grinning like a fool himself. “Yeah, she is. Just don't ask for her phone number. Better mention your love for kittens and Indian food.”  
  
“Oh, great. Thank you.”  
  
Ten seconds after the doctor leaving, the force of nature rushes into his room, Misha on her heels. He is holding a couple of floating balloons with colorful prints of _Get Well Soon_ and _It's A Boy_.  
  
“Oh my god, Jared, I'm so happy that you're okay.” Felicia says, pulling Jared into a tight hug. Misha is standing beside the bed, waving shyly.  
  
“I'm fine, Lish, just have a headache the size of Texas. But I'm fine. What's with the balloons? _It's A Boy_?”  
  
“Oh, they only had one _Get Well_ balloon, so Misha had to buy the other one.”  
  
“Of course it was me.” Misha says under his breath, though he grins innocently when Felicia looks at him with piercing eyes. It is always better to not anger the force of nature.  
  
Jared's friends stay for a few minutes longer, Felicia talking about the store and the police and _that cute doctor_ , Misha just standing beside the bed, resting his hand on Jared's shoulder. His eyelids are drooping b< the time his friends decide to leave. When the door clicks shut, he is already dead to the world.  
  
He gets the bad news when Mr Kim visits the next day.  
  
“I'm canned?” Jared asks in disbelief.  
  
“I'm so sorry, Jared. The smoke from the dumpster was sucked through the AC vents and an open window into the store. Everything in there is dirty and sooty, almost all the goods need to be trashed. I don't have the energy to start anew. I'm going to sell the store and move to my daughter, that's what I've wanted to do for so long, and now it seems like I'm going to have to.  
  
“You're the best employee I ever had, and I'm really sorry that I have to do this. If you want me to, I'll help you search for a new job.”  
  
Jared knows that, silently, the old man is pleading for forgiveness, that he really is sorry for abandoning his store, but there's another question in Jared's mind that almost leaves no room for anything else.  
  
_Where is Jensen?_  
  


  


  
When you're not waiting on news about your family, it is boring in a hospital. Jared has time to mull over things he doesn't want to right now, like how to get a new job, how to pay the bills for his father's care, does he really want to have a relationship with Jensen.  
  
The last one is easy. _Yes_. Jensen is kind and attentive, funny and hot like hell. Jared wants to get to know him, but there is something he has forgotten. Something important is lurking in the back of his mind, and he just can't remember it. _Damn amnesia_.  
  
At first, he was miffed that Jensen didn't show up to make him feel better. He learned though that his phone – and his wallet and his bike – were stolen by those petty criminals so he had no way of letting him know what had happened. When his friends visited – Felicia had called Chad and Osric – he was too overwhelmed by the situation to ask them for a favor. Jared was to bear the blame for Jensen's absence.  
  
Two police officers distract him for a little while, asking about the attackers, but he _can't remember, I'm sorry_. Promising to keep him up to date, they leave dissatisfied and frustrated. Jared remains convinced more than ever that there's something important in his mind he needs to dig out.  
  
Felicia cleaned his clothes and brought his stuff he'd left behind at the store. Mrs Kim brought him enough sandwiches to feed a small army, and Mr Kim picked him up by car, driving him home. Jared wonders if he deserves their kindness.  
  
His apartment is too quiet. Something... _someone_ 's missing.   
  
Standing in his living room, Jared doesn't know what to do. Maybe he should go to Jensen _right now_. Or maybe not. He is probably working or perhaps he doesn't want to see Jared.  
  
He is standing in his too quiet living room, breathing. That is something he knows how to do, _breathe_. That's familiar and safe, there is no harm in breathing, no need to decide anything.  
  
He jumps at the thumping at his apartment door, but rushes to open it, and it's Jensen standing there, panting and flushed.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Jared is so relieved he can't stifle a soft laugh. “Yes, I'm fine. Come in.”  
  
He tells his story on the living room couch, tells of forgetting to contact him, of the amnesia, of his stuff being stolen.  
  
“And my bike!” he says full of anger. “Those fuckers stole my bike!”  
  
He can't sit still when thinking about his bike and his phone, he has no money for replacements. There was only ten dollars in his wallet, but he lost a couple of family photographs. It is that loss that is tearing at his heart.  
  
Jensen stands too, taking Jared in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back.  
  
“It's okay,” he says. “It's okay.”  
  
Jared tilts his head a bit. The world is blurry through the angry tears he doesn't want to spill, but he can clearly see Jensen's moss green eyes, like a new world of _safe_ and _home_.  
  
“It's okay. I've got you.” Jensen reassures. His hands are soft when cupping Jared's face, and his lips are warm when brushing over his.   
  
Jared is hesitant at first, then he opens up, needing Jensen like the desert needs rain. He has never been kissed like this before, wholeheartedly, truly. He has never kissed someone like this.  
  
When they stop kissing they're lying on the couch, Jensen half blanketing him. His eyes are dark, hooded, his smile predatory.   
  
Jared's jeans are too tight. His erection is almost painful, rubbing it against Jensen's hip doesn't ease the ache, unfortunately. Though it seems, Jensen has the same problem.  
  
“I've never...”Jared says.  
  
“I know.” Jensen answers. “Just tell me when you want me to stop.”  
  
Hot lips are trailing kisses down Jared's neck, deft fingers working his shirt open, fingernails grazing his nipples. Jared feels like he's never been touched before. He would be _stupid_ if he wanted this to stop.   
  
Jensen breathes against his neck. “God, you smell so good.”  
  
“That's hospital soap.” Jared mutters, bucking his hips.  
  
“No, that's you.”  
  
Every single nerve in his body seems to come alive. Jensen's hands, petting and stroking all over, are setting him on fire, whereas his lips and tongue, kissing and licking, are soothing the burn. Jared's dick, his body's hot center, feels like a molten core. It's hard to stop from coming in his pants.  
  
Jensen's mouth is working on his collarbone, a wet tongue, hot lips, then a grazing of teeth over his skin, breaking it, sinking into his heated flesh. And Jared comes, his dick untouched. The world is narrowing down to the white in his jeans, then it goes gray and black, and then there's nothing.

 

 **Chapter 2 -** **Jensen**  
  
Finally, at five a.m., Jensen is home. At half past five he comes out of the shower wearing sweatpants and his favorite t-shirt.  
  
On his way to the living room he hears some scratching in his guest bedroom and makes a mental note to buy cat food and hay on Monday. He also needs more cat toys and maybe a larger cage for the bunnies.   
  
The new member of his little family is still in their box that's sitting on the sofa where he dumped it. He had to hide it in his locker at Lehne's _Heaven on Earth_ because he didn't make it back home before work.   
  
Jensen hates that name but it is his place of work. Officially, it is a gay strip club but everybody and their mother know it's a whorehouse. Formally, Jensen is hired as a busboy but, _again,_ every customer knows about his actual job description. He hates what he has to do to bring home some bacon – he snorts at that thought because _bacon_ \- and he knows he doesn't have much time left until Lehne promotes him. He knows what the promotion will include.  
  
Jensen may hate his job but he is good at it. Blow jobs and hand jobs alone make him more money than some of his co-workers offering the whole nine yards. It's his specialty that makes him unique, it's only a matter of time before Lehne will ask for more.  
  
Sitting down on the sofa, Jensen puts the box on his knees and lifts the lid. The bunny inside is brown, asleep, but it wakes up when Jensen takes it in his hands and pets it.  
  
It's cute. It's a cute tiny animal. Jensen can smell the source of its body heat, the blood beneath. His teeth are aching. He has to hold tight onto the squirming bunny, lifting it to his lips, nuzzling the fur.  
  
It smells clean, pure.   
  
He bares his teeth, and with a sigh of contentment, sinks his fangs into the warm meat. He gulps the blood welling up, three gulps, then he licks the wound. The bunny is alive, though trembling.   
  
“I'm sorry, little one,” Jensen says, putting it back into the box. He keeps on petting it, feeling self-disgust and shame. So this is what he does: hurt innocent creatures.  
  


 

  
Jensen's after-work party starts at about three a.m. on a Sunday morning. He likes the club, _Lido Nights_ , it's right next to a really good if not a bit fancy restaurant called _Lido_ which he has only been to once.  
  
The club is crowded with drunk men and naked girls. He even knows two or three of the girls working for Lehne in one of his other nightclubs. They are clad in tight skirts and high heels, make-up covering their faces in red and black and glitter, but Jensen can see the hollowness behind their smiles. He doesn't feel like staying once he realizes that work followed him.   
  
On his way to the exit work has completely caught up with him when he's stopped by a hand on his forearm.  
  
Jensen looks up to the young man the hand belongs to, and in the back of his mind, this nagging feeling of _almost recognition_ evolves. He sees the bloodshot eyes, that are blinking slowly, and the longing in them and remembers – _Steve_.  
  
He was a john, a few weeks back. It was his first visit to a brothel, a present from his friends, and he tasted like wood and clouds. _A good guy_.  
  
That's why Jensen stops. That's why he agrees to a blow job – “I'll pay you double, dude.” – and that's why he's on his knees in one of the stalls in the restroom a few minutes later.  
  
Steve is a good guy, he tries not to thrust too deep when Jensen takes him in. It doesn't matter but the effort is rewarded with a long swipe of the tongue around the head of Steve's dick. When it's time, Jensen's fangs elongate and nick the skin at the base. It is enough for Steve to shoot his hot load deep into Jensen's throat, moaning loudly, and then collapse in a heap.  
  
Jensen spits into the toilet. Now it's his turn.  
  
Steve's barely conscious, blissed out, and Jensen takes advantage, going for the jugular without a second thought. When his fangs pierce the skin, Steve comes a second time, though his dick is limp.   
  
Jensen drinks greedily. It's the first blood of the night, he hadn't wanted the other johns' disgusting smelling blood but this, Steve's, tastes like clouds again. He won't need his pets tonight to get the putrid taste of his clients out of his mouth. After drinking his fill, Jensen licks the little punctures and a few seconds later, it has disappeared, _gone_.  
  
Quickly checking and pocketing the wad of cash Steve gave him, Jensen leaves the restroom and the club, heading home.  


 

  


  
Jensen hates his work. Most of the johns are old, fat, wealthy but disgusting, sometimes, on a good day, they are only one of those things. They smell and taste like cardboard, or mold, and once, there was this guy who tasted like _blood_. Jensen almost threw up that night. He has seven, eight or more clients each night and they are selfish, hypocritical, bigoted, dumb. They are so wrong and fake, Jensen can taste it.   
  
The ones that are good enough to taste so are few, and Jensen is pleased to see them keeping coming back.   
  
Today though, it's Senator Thomas' turn . He's a dick - really, he is – who is whipped by his wife and five kids and lets off steam with Jensen and his co-workers. Maybe they are hookers and whores but they gossip and psychoanalyze the clients.   
  
Jensen's on his knees – _again_ , as he is for half the night -, his hands cuffed behind his back, his face and chest stained with Thomas' - “Call me senator.” - jizz. He already came twice but he paid for three times. Unfortunately, his client is an impotent old dick, and Jensen has to slave for his money. He could make the senator come anytime, with just a scratch of his teeth, but he knows what happens when his john thinks it was not long enough. Jensen sucks and licks, swirling his tongue, gagging because Thomas likes that, his hands in Jensen's hair, tugging at the strands.   
  
He's exhausted when he finally feels the senator's balls getting drawn up. Releasing the dick from his mouth, he starts nibbling its base. He has to nick it a couple of times for Thomas to come and is just glad it's over.   
  
Jensen is huddled on the floor, eyes closed, hands still cuffed. He doesn't want to see the senator cleaning and dressing himself after a recovery phase. When he can feel fingers patting his hair, he opens his eyes. Thomas is leering at him.   
  
“Well done, my pretty toy,” he says. “Next time, I'm gonna pay so much Fred won't refuse me. I'll fuck your tight little ass open. I'll pound in that tight hole of yours, and you'll love it!”   
  
His parting gift is a punch to Jensen's face.   
  
Jensen slumps to the ground. He hates his job. If he knew another way to get the blood he needs, he'd leave this – _everything_ – behind in no time. 

 

  


  
He's still cuffed and huddling on the floor when the door opens and Frederic Lehne enters.   
  
_Fuck_ , that's not good. Lehne never comes into his work room. He has his goons for delivering messages, staying in his office almost the whole time. If he chooses to leave it, the shit has hit the fan.   
  
“Sam,” he says by way of a greeting.   
  
“Mr Lehne,” Jensen answers, getting clumsily to his knees. He's always wary of his boss, but right now, there are alarm bells ringing in his head.   
  
“It's good to see your dedication to your clients.” He sits down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. It looks as if he is talking to a petulant child. Or a dog. “But I think the dedication to your employer significantly leaves a lot to be desired.   
  
“Sam, I know you can take a lot more than this.” He gestures with his hand towards Jensen. “I want to offer you more. More money, less work, better clients. You can easily make three times more money when you start working on the stage and _catching_.”   
  
There it is, the dreaded code word. It means: Go on the stage, show your naked flesh, get fucked and fucked up by the men paying Lehne to use you.   
  
_No way._  
  
“You're very generous, Mr Lehne. I'm sorry to decline your offer though. I don't mind getting dirty as a _busboy_ but I don't want anything up my ass that doesn't belong there.”   
  
Lehne's eyes are narrowing to slits. His voice is cold when he answers.   
  
“I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. You don't get to say no to me. If I want you to get fucked by the senator, you will. I don't think you would like the consequences of a refusal.”   
  
Jensen snorts. Rising to his feet, he's tensing his muscles, and with a _crack_ , the chain on the cuffs breaks. Standing in front of Lehne, he's looking down at the blanching man. His smirk is not boding well.   
  
“Mr Lehne, I think you don't understand.” He cracks the manacle on his left wrist. “When I say I don't want to _catch_ -” There goes the manacle on his right wrist. “I won't catch.”  
  
With a clanking sound, the pieces of the cuffs drop onto the floor.   
  
“Understood, _Fred_?”   


 

  


  
Tucking the box with the bunny safely under his arm, Jensen makes his way home. His head is spinning because Lehne backed down. Sure, he was pissed as hell, but he backed down. Maybe Jensen now has enough time to think about alternatives.  
  
If he worked as a nurse in a hospital... no, there's no appeal to sucking blood from sick people. And it wouldn't be fair to them. He tried to get blood from the blood bank a few times but it didn't work, _damn safeguards_.  
  
If he moved to a really big city, like New York or LA, he could bleed random hook-ups. He'd need a lot of money, though, for his living expenses, those cities aren't cheap. Finding a decent job wouldn't be easy as a high school dropout though.  
  
Jensen sighs. Alternatives aren't easy to find.  
  
When he enters the backyard of his apartment building with the withered flowerbeds, there's someone sitting on the old stone bench. A young man, almost a boy, tall and lean. His brown hair is windswept, and he's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt though the morning is chilly. The early morning sun bathes his face in an orange glow.   
  
He looks so young and sad, and he smells like snow, and the sun.  
  
Jensen doesn't know why he stops.   
  
The guy, hearing Jensen's footfalls, opens his eyes. Perhaps they're brown, maybe hazel. But there are definitely some flecks of blue.   
  
_They're beautiful_.  
  
“Hey”, Jensen says. “You live here? I thought I'd be the only one awake at the ass-crack of dawn.”  
  
“Hey”, the guy answers, sitting up. “Yeah, in 3C. Just couldn't sleep, that's why I came down here.”  
  
“It's nice and quiet here at this time. By the way, I'm Jensen.” Holding the box with the bunny in one hand, he reaches out with the other one.  
  
“Jared.”   
  
They shake hands. Jared's skin is calloused and chilled, wrapped in a soft cocoon smelling of a winter day.  
  
“What's in there?” Jared asks pointing to the box.  
  
_Just a little snack._  
  
“Hmm? Oh. Nothing, it's.. nothing.”   
  
The damn bunny chooses this moment to scratch at the box. Jensen can feel a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.  
  
Jared grins, his face kind of lighting up. “You know that there are no pets allowed?”  
  
There's no way for Jensen to keep his own grin in. “There are no _dogs_ allowed. It says nothing about bunnies.”  
  
“You have a bunny in there?” Jared sounds quite surprised, spreading some scent of cinnamon with the smell of snow and winter.  
  
Crap, he can't say what he needs that little animal for. “Uh, yeah. It's a, uh, birthday present. For my little sister.” Sometimes he wishes he had one.  
  
Jared smiles. With dimples. “She'll love it.”  
  
“Yeah. Uhm, you know. I gotta go. I just got off work, I'm ready for bed. See you next time!” Jensen can't risk letting those dimples get under his skin. With a little wave, he's bolting, heading for the north wing's backdoor.  
  


 

  
Jensen is leaning with his back against the apartment door that he just closed after Jared. He is rubbing his hands over his face because he can't believe what he just did.   
  
He – the overcautious lonely man – invited a more or less stranger into his home, drinking beer, eating sandwiches. All of that due to that stupid, wonderful _scent_ that made all those images of winter, of building snowmen and drinking hot chocolate rise out of the deep. If it was possible Jensen would roll in it.   
  
Low in his belly, there's a _need_ and _want_. The need to taste Jared, to bite into that golden flesh, suck on it, swallow just one drop of delicious red blood. The want to cherish that scent, to comfort Jared, holding him tight until the world ceases to exist.   
  
Also, Jared is a nice guy. And incredibly hot.   
  
Jensen is so doomed.   
  


 

  
When it comes to work, life is getting harder. His co-workers know that there's something going on between Lehne and Jensen, and they're maintaining a low profile, but Lehne's goons bully him whenever they can.   
  
Then there's this new guy, Tahmoh. Jensen hates his guts. It has nothing to do with him being the new rising star of Lehne's whorehouse, Jensen just can't stand the smell. The guy reeks of self-satisfaction and danger. Every time they meet each other in the lounge or the break room, there's a smug grin on Tahmoh's face, smug, arrogant and all-knowing.  
  
The senator's attention is getting more painful because Jensen keeps on refusing to get fucked by the old fart. That's why he has a bad feeling when he has to put the handcuffs on. It's not unusual for Thomas to want his boys in restraints, but there's a glint in his eyes and a shade in his smell that makes Jensen wary.  
  
Taking the familiar dick – and that's a thought Jensen hates, being _familiar_ with other guys' dicks – in his mouth, he starts slurping and sucking, just the way his client likes. Squinting up, he sees the senator sneering.  
  
That's a sight Jensen doesn't like. At all.   
  
He unbends in order to ask what is wrong, but the movement makes his head spin. The room is tilting on its end, his head is too heavy to stay upright. Suddenly, he's lying on the floor, and _when did that happen_?  
  
Jensen's tongue feels too big for his mouth, the world is starting to turn gray, and that's when he _knows_ what's happening.  
  
“Ye roof'd yer digg,” he slurs, and he gets his answer when Thomas is crouching down in front of him, patting his cheek.  
  
“My gorgeous little boy,” he coos. “It's the only way to have a taste of that pretty ass of yours. I told you _repeatedly_ that I will fuck you, and now it's happening.”  
  
Jensen sighs.   
  
When he opens his eyes again, there is water running in the little en-suite. Obviously, the senator is cleaning his dick – but honestly, what kind of sick fuck puts drugs on their ugly appendage? Another blink and he's on the bed, lying on his stomach. _What the...?_  
  
He tries to break the cuffs, but neither his arms nor legs won't move an inch. They don't feel like his own though he's feeling like he's flailing around on the bed. No way is he going to get rid of his restraints any time soon.  
  
There are hands on him – short, fat fingers – stroking and petting, and maybe he is getting goosebumps, but he can't be sure because he also thinks that Thomas has at least fifteen hands. His skin though is crawling in the wake of their touches, and that's what goosebumps are like, aren't they? He doesn't know for sure because there's only molasses left where his brain used to be, slowly leaking through his ears onto the pillows.  
  
With the next blink he wakes up to two fingers in his ass, and that's _enough_!   
  
Jensen's seething with rage. He won't let his own rape happen, just lying there helpless like a newborn kitten. His arms tense up, and that's something he loves to feel. Just a little bit more, and the cuffs crack.  
  
The fingers disappear from his ass. Sitting back, the senator is visibly shocked.  
  
“What? How are you...? You should be drugged for another two hours!”  
  
“Surprise, bastard!” Jensen's arm dashes forward, grabbing Thomas' throat and squeezing.   
  
“I told you, you sick fuck, my ass belongs to me. This is the last time you try to put your filthy hands on me!”  
  
Standing and dragging the helpless man along, Jensen is on the way to Lehne's office. In the face of his naked rage - and naked ass -, the guys in the hallways move wide-eyed in order to not be run down.  
  
It is a sight to behold. Jensen in all his glory, emanating fury in hot waves, storming along the hallways of Frederic Lehne's strip club, hauling an equally naked senator Thomas who is spluttering unintelligibly, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge Jensen's fingers from his throat.  
  
The office door bangs against the wall when Jensen throws it violently open. Lehne is sitting behind his desk. Looking up, he comes face to face with a trembling and gasping senator.  
  
“I know it was you,” Jensen growls, voice dangerously low, “who told this bastard to use roofies. And I know he paid you a lot of money. This is the last time either of both of you laid a hand on me. Consider this my resignation.”  
  
Shoving Thomas unceremoniously onto Lehne's desk, Jensen glares defiantly at his ex-employer and leaves.  
  


 

  
“The mighty Sam Winchester.” Tahmoh's voice is derisive. “You caused quite a riot up there.”   
  
Jensen shoves his locker door closed. “That was me. But it was time to cut those assholes down to size.”   
  
He stuffs t-shirts and a pair of flip-flops into his bag. Why does he have so many clothes in his locker when he spends most of his time half-naked anyway?   
  
Tahmoh is leaning against the lockers, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You're quite arrogant, aren't you? Thinking you can impose the working conditions, but you're just as mediocre as the rest of us.”   
  
“Listen. I'm good at what I'm doing. If I don't go the whole nine yards, that's my choice, and nobody can _ever_ force themselves on me if I don't want them to. I've had it up to _here_ with assholes like the senator thinking they can buy anybody, and when money doesn't work, they resort to violence.”   
  
“And now?”   
  
“Now I'm out. I'll get the rest of my stuff and my money later. You can have my clients if you're keen on them.”   
  
Grabbing the bag and his keys, Jensen shoves the door open, striding out of the building. He so needs to see a friendly face now, someone who isn't being an asshole. Unfortunately, he doesn't know many people outside of work and even fewer are actually decent.   
  
Jared. That's who he needs now.   


 

  
Later that afternoon, they are both sitting in a nice little coffeehouse near the grocery store where Jared works, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches and éclairs. This is exactly what he needs – _normal_ , a date with a cute boy, and maybe even more, so long as this actually is a date.  
  
Jared is apologizing for his co-worker, Felicia, and then he uses a phrase that touches a chord in Jensen. _Me and you_.   
  
He has been alone for a long time now. Ever since Ty, there has been no other person in Jensen's life. And Ty... was a mistake, the biggest possible mistake a person could ever make. Yes, it's melodramatic but true. Ty robbed him of the chance to lead a normal life.  
  
It hurts deep inside Jensen.  
  
“Would you like it if there was a 'me and you'?”  
  
He trusts Jared, needs to. It's deeply engrained in him that Jared won't betray him, not like Ty did. Hell, nobody could betray him like Ty.  
  
Staring at his mug, tracing circles on the tabletop with his finger, Jared shrugs with one shoulder. “Well... yes. I think.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jensen leaps.  
  
“That's good. Me too.” He puts a hand on top of Jared's, and when Jared looks up, smiling uncertainly, Jensen smiles back.  
  
“Uhm.” Jared clears his throat. “I'm... I need to...” He sighs. “I just ditched my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I still am not quite sure about... my sexuality. About being gay. I mean...”  
  
Jensen grins. He knows those feelings. “It's okay. We can take it slow. One step at a time, okay?”  
  
Sighing with relief, Jared nods his head. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
Jensen squeezes Jared's hand momentarily. “Now I want to be honest with you, too. I have some secrets. Actually, pretty dark ones. Not a serial killer, but I can't spill the beans yet.”  
  
Jared's odor peaks a little with cinnamon. God, how Jensen would love to wear it like a cloak.  
  
“That's alright. We just met, I think we both need some time to get to know each other. I don't expect you to tell me everything right now.”  
  
Jensen grins. “Great. Now, do you want another éclair? My treat.”  
  
The smile on Jared's face is all Jensen needs for the rest of his life. At this moment, he's happy.

 

  


  
Working freelance sucks. Yes, admittedly, his previous gig sucked – no pun intended – in a general sense, but freelancing is worse than working in Lehne's club. Standing on the street in the cold and rain, fighting with other hookers and pimps. Sometimes, Jensen thinks he would rather be an accountant.  
  
He remembers some of the hookers, he thinks, though he never knew their names when he worked on 10th Street. It's been a good few years – four, maybe five – since he left 10th in order to work in the glamorous world of _Heaven on Earth_ , since he decided to never let anybody pay for a piece of his ass again.   
  
It's his first night back on the street, and he's incredibly lucky. He got into a fight with two pimps, resulting in broken bones on their end and a black eye on Jensen's. In the two hours it took to heal, he had five johns, looking for that vulnerable beauty. After that, he had another five more.   
  
He is twenty-five now, but still looks like a teen. Most of the guys in search of male hookers prefer the young ones, so it's easy to act as jailbait. Besides, he is kind of new on the street, fresh meat on the market. Without his special skills, he would go down before long, though.  
  
Most of the hookers smell sick, addicted. The johns' smell less bigoted than the ones at Lehne's, more needy, often stifling like in a closet. Still, Jensen can drink his fill.  
  
He is glad when the night is almost over and he can go home.  
  
Then he's meeting Jared in the backyard – _seriously_ , what's with the backyard all the time? – and they are having a heart to heart, telling their life stories. It's a contest for the saddest biography, and Jared is the winner.  
  
Jared is exceptional. He works as a general drudge – the right-hand man – in Kim's grocery store, as a waiter in a restaurant and occasionally in a club, and a part-time janitor in their apartment building, just to pay for his father's hospital bills. He's kind and cordial, radiating a sense of calm Jensen never experienced for himself.   
  
There may be the slight possibility that he is falling for Jared. There is this warmth spreading through him whenever he thinks of the other man – _boy_ , Jared's just twenty-one. It's the same feeling he experienced when he met Ty, but now Jensen knows that Ty never loved him back. There have been hints but Jensen never saw them or was in denial about them for a long time.  
  
Jared is in no way like Ty – _sweet, innocent Jared_ , blushing when touching, threading their fingers, exchanging small kisses. He is genuine reliable, and that's why Jensen is getting nervous about his non-appearance on a Tuesday evening.  
  
When he can't get through to the grocery store's phone line, Jensen calls a cab – because it would take _too fucking long_ to walk.   
  
The store is closed though. The building smells of smoke and soot, and its backside and the adjacent alley are wet with water. A neighbor tells Jensen that there is a gang war going on, and someone set the store on fire, but no, they wouldn't know about casualties.  
  
It's a couple of miserable days. Jensen can't get a hold of Jared's employer or his co-workers, hence he doesn't know whether Jared is hurt or... worse.  
  
Jensen is going mad, slowly but surely. Staring out of his bedroom window down onto the garden, he has been waiting for his boyfriend to come home since six a.m., only leaving the window to take a piss. Finally, a little after noon, he can see movement in Jared's apartment on the other side of the garden.   
  
It was a surprise realizing that he can see the apartment windows from his bedroom. During the past weeks, Jensen was standing in his dark room, gazing through the blinds, imagining what Jared might be doing – and maybe, if he jerked off to those images, it was only for him to know.  
  
Now he's just grabbing his keys and darting out the north wing, through the neglected garden, and into the south wing. Three minutes later, he is knocking on Jared's door.  
  
When his boyfriend opens the door looking tired and unkempt, his first words are, “Are you alright?”  
  
Jared laughs low. “Yes, I'm fine. Come in.”  
  
The story is told in the living room on the couch. Jensen can't keep his hands off Jared, needing to reassure himself that he really is fine. He can't believe how lucky Jared was.  
  
Jared apologizes for not contacting him. When his friends were visiting, he forgot to ask them to let Jensen know what happened, and his phone was stolen along with his wallet.  
  
“And my bike!” he says angrily. “Those fuckers stole my bike!”  
  
Jensen wonders why he's so upset about his old, scratched up bike being stolen. Then he remembers that Jared saves all his money for his dad's care. There is no money left for a new, even cheap bike.  
  
“It's okay,” he says, taking Jared in his arms, rubbing soothing circles onto his back. “It's okay.”  
  
Looking into his eyes, he sees angry tears. Jared is... hurt, _vulnerable_. Lost.  
  
“It's okay. I've got you.” Cupping his face, Jensen brushes his lips over Jared's who is hesitant at first, then opening up, drinking Jensen in like he is dying from thirst.

 

 **Chapter 3 -** **Jared**  
  
It's the most wonderful dream Jared has ever had. Unfortunately, he can't remember a thing about it but he knows he's safe and whole. He's keeping his eyes shut because he wants to cherish the feeling.  
  
A rustling disrupts his musing, so he opens his eyes. Staring at the ceiling, he has a strange feeling of déja vu as he asks, “What happened?”  
  
“Thank god, you're awake. How are you, you alright?” It is Jensen speaking, his voice strained.  
  
“I'm... fine,” Jared answers hesitantly. “Really. I'm fine. What happened?”  
  
He is lying in his own bed, fully clothed – _how disappointing_. Jensen is huddling against the pillows, but keeping a distance to him. He looks pale and restless, fiddling with everything within arm's reach.  
  
“You passed out. I don't know why. I was kissing you, and suddenly, you just passed out. You sure you're fine?”  
  
“Jensen, I'm fine. Actually, I'm great.” Sitting up, he is fingering his collarbone. There is nothing to feel, no trace of broken skin. “Did you bite me?”  
  
Jensen is blushing gorgeously, and Jared is mesmerized by his cinnamon-colored freckles. “Uhm. Maybe... I have a... little kink.” He is wriggling like an eel. “I uhm... like biting my uhm... partner.”  
  
“You _bite_ your partner?”  
  
“Uh, just a little bit? I thought maybe you'd like it, too. And nobody's _ever_ passed out.”  
  
For a beat, Jared is speechless. It's not because of this weird _kink_ of Jensen's, it's because he _likes_ it. Yes, apparently, Jared is as kinky as his boyfriend. The thought of white teeth grazing his skin makes him tense, a tingling at the small of his back, working its way straight to his groin. He's hard, and Jensen notices.  
  
Now it's Jared's turn to blush.  
  
For another beat Jensen's blush deepens, then he scrambles off the bed, saying, “I'm gonna go get some take out,” and rushing out of the bedroom, and the apartment.  
  
Jared drops back onto the pillows. _Great_. He just chased his boyfriend off due to a bodily reflex. Now he has a hard-on from Hell and is willing it to go _down, boy_. He doesn't want to take care of it himself, he wants Jensen to do it, running his calloused hands along his sides, trailing his lips across his chest, his teeth – _no_ , _not going there_.

 

  


  
Jensen's return is... uneventful. No earth-shattering confessions, no trumpets from above. Instead, it's three pizzas, a sixpack and an “I couldn't decide.”   
  
Sitting on the couch, Jared is pleasantly buzzed. Usually, he doesn't drink, but he just can't face this evening stone-cold sober. Jensen, however, still nurses his first beer, apparently wrecked from the evening's previous events, and maintains a safe distance from him .   
  
Their knees are _almost_ touching, and that's more than Jared can bear.   
  
“Look,” he says, putting his empty bottle on the coffee table. “Maybe we can forget what happened today and start over? Take it slow, see what happens?”   
  
“God, yes. Please.” Jensen looks as if those words took a pretty heavy load off his mind. “I was so scared you'd want me to leave.”   
  
“Why? Because of this kink of yours?” Jared laughs. Getting serious, he asks, “You don't have other kinks, do you?”   
  
Choking on a gulp of his bottle, Jensen coughs. “No. No kinks that I know of.”   
  
“Good.” Jared says grinning, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Maybe later, we can find out if I have kinks I don't know of.”   
  
Jensen gulps, blushing, and Jared laughs happily. Messing with Jensen is fun.   
  
Leaning forward, he presses a quick kiss on Jensen's lips. Kissing Jensen is fun, too.   
  


 

  
Finding a new job is not easy. Jeff gives him every available shift in his restaurant and club, but it isn't nearly enough. Jared negotiates with the hospital about paying his father's bills in installments. They are sympathetic and cooperative, and he is relieved when he exits the office.  
  
His father doesn't know about the trouble his son suffers, looking frail and pale in his hospital bed. He is hooked on machines that breathe for him, and Jared abhors all of them to his very core.  
  
He knows full well that his dad would be long dead by now without them. Sometimes a thought – not a wish, _not yet_ – crawls in his mind, a thought of how _you could go to college when he's gone_. Jared, though, doesn't want to walk that road. His dad is still alive and needs him.  
  
“You know,” he says, “I know you wanted me to become a lawyer, just like you. Unfortunately, I thought more about dancing ballet when I was twelve, and it was totally your fault, watching Billy Elliot with me.” He sniffs, smiling under his tears. “Then I wanted to be a fire fighter, and a vet, and a plastic surgeon. Heh, I thought about performing liposuction on Mrs White's fat cat.  
  
“Then there was this case with the boy who sued the hospital that messed up his operation, and you worked so hard to help him, and I thought you were a hero in a suit when you won the case. That's when I decided to become a lawyer, just like you. I wanted to make you proud of me, but I never told you.”  
  
He sighs. “I want to be yelled at because of the scratches on your car I caused. I want to tell you about Jensen. Want to know what you think of him. But I never will... you never will... the doctor said...”  
  
He wipes angrily at the tears on his face.  


 

  


  
After visiting his dad, he is devastated. He wants to crawl into his too little bed, curl in on himself and be left alone. But he can't. He has to leave for work in Jeff's club, smiling and flirting the whole night because of the tips he gets slipped. He's exhausted but can't show it.   
  
That's why he's not sure whether it's Jensen he sees walking to the bathroom with another guy. He decides it's not his boyfriend.   
  
Thinking of Jensen, he has the feeling that he is missing something, that he forgot something important but he can't remember for the life of him.   
  
It's almost closing time when The Drunk Idiot sitting in the booth at the back proceeds to attack. He hit on Jared for half the night, but he is so wasted he keeps forgetting that he has already tipped Jared. Jared's wallet sure isn't complaining about the man's misery – “De fugger saiddid was his p'oject an' de fuggers _belieeev'd_ 'im!” –, being as it's noticeably bigger now. The Idiot's pick-up lines, though, are pathetic and annoying after three hours.   
  
“Well, godgeous, what'cha doin' affer work?” he says, leering and groping Jared's butt.   
  
Holding his tray like a protective shield, Jared takes a step sideways. “Going home _alone_. Sir, I'd rather you kept your hands to yourself.”   
  
Idiot snickers. “Ah, ya don' know whaddya miss. C'm here.” Gripping Jared at his wrist, he draws him closer, tugging and prodding at the same time.   
  
Jared is tempted to hit him with the tray, then he would to loosen his bruising grip, but unfortunately, it's not appropriate to hit the patrons.   
  
“Sir, let go. Please.”   
  
No chance. Suddenly, there is another hand gripping Idiot's arm so hard he has to let go. Surprised, Jared looks up and recognizes Jensen, unmistakably angry.   
  
“Did you know that I'm capable of ripping off dicks right through the clothing?” he says, his eyes blazing green-hot.   
  
“Ehm, no?” Idiot is shrinking to a little heap.   
  
“If you want to, I can show you.”   
  
“Ehm, no?” The heap is shrinking even more.   
  
“Well, _good_.”   
  
Then Jensen is claiming Jared, right there in the club, with a heated kiss, licking into his mouth, and Jared is... melting. He doesn't hear the catcalls from the patrons and co-workers through the blood pounding in his ears. A few minutes later, he finds himself in a dark and empty office, kissing Jensen again – or still?   
  
Breaking the kiss, he breathlessly declares, “That was so hot. You going all caveman and protective and... dude, that was so hot!”   
  
Dropping onto his knees, his trembling fingers search for Jensen's fly, fumbling with the belt and zipper.   
  
“Jared,” Jensen's voice is strained. “You don't need to...”   
  
“Yes, I do. I want to, Jensen, so badly.”   
  
Jared's first blow job takes place in a dark office in the back of the _Lido Nights_ club. It's sloppy and messy, but it's satisfactory for both sides.   
  
His second blow job takes place an hour later in Jensen's apartment. It's already less sloppy, but definitely still satisfactory. 

 

  
It's almost noon when Jared wakes up after another night at the club. He slept fitfully, dreaming of things he can't remember, but knowing they're important.  
  
Just as he pours some cereal in a bowl, his new phone – a bargain, of course – chirps with a text. Jensen wants him to come down and meet him on the street. He replies with a _give me five_ and, after inhaling his breakfast, darts out of his apartment and down the stairs.  
  
He almost bumps into the two strangers standing in front of the entry door, looking dangerous to deal with.  
  
Apologizing, Jared tries to scrape by, but a hand on his chest stops him.  
  
“Just a sec, kiddo,” the taller one says. “Do you know a Sam Winchester?”  
  
_That's easy_. “No. Sorry.”  
  
“He's 6', short hair, blond. Green eyes.” The other guy stares unblinking into his eyes.  
  
“Sorry, I know all the people living in this building. There's no Sam Winchester.”  
  
Taking a measured step – because you should never run from mobsters – , Jared walks alongside the middle building towards the north wing.   
  
There is Jensen with a bike. He is giving Jared a bike. As a present. He says that he doesn't use it, doesn't need it, that he wants to make Jared happy with it.  
  
Jared is happy. He feels like a little boy again, when he got his first bike from his parents. He has to choke back his tears because it's the most wonderful thing – besides meeting Jensen – he has experienced in a long time. As payback, he promises to mount Jensen's book shelves that are still in boxes in his living room.  
  
Assembling the shelves is fun. Jensen's helping as much as he can with his two left hands, first fumbling with the cardboard and the case boards, then with Jared, distracting him with kisses and muffins.  
  
It takes almost the whole Saturday to finish their project, but eventually, all shelves are positioned and all books placed in. The living room looks more inhabited, more comfortable now. Maybe Jared could get some paintings or posters for the bare walls.  
  
Or maybe he should wait for another year or so before he redecorates his boyfriend's apartment.  
  
_Boyfriend_. He could snuggle down in this word, it's so soft and fluffy, making his heart speed up. He never had similar feelings about his girlfriends, so perhaps he's gay to the core. Or it's just Jensen.  
  
It doesn't matter. Jared is happy, Jensen seems to be happy, too. It doesn't matter how gay he is or isn't, he's in love.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
They're both lying on the couch, Jensen spooning behind him, rubbing and petting his arm, watching TV, and Jared's in love.  
  
He has to say something, anything, for a diversion.  
  
“Today, a couple of shady characters were asking for a Sam Winchester. I know that there's no one living under this name here, but you fit the description. So I was wondering... are you a mobster, Jen?”  
  
Jensen laughs low, his voice kind of strained when he replies, “No. No, baby. I'm not a mobster.”  
  
“Great. That's... great.” Jared draws a deep breath. _It's now or never_. “You know... when I had the run-in with those gang members... when I had the amnesia... I lost something.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Jared can almost hear the raised eyebrow. “I mean I knew something about you, but not anymore. It was important, and it's poking my mind, but I just can't remember!”  
  
Jensen's hold on Jared's shoulders and chest tightens, he's burying his face in Jared's nape. “I'm so sorry. There's something I need to tell you, but I can't, not yet. Give me time, please.”  
  
Jared twists his head so he can kiss the man behind him. “It's alright. I'm happy you told me. I can wait.”  
  
They're kissing, and it's getting heated. Jensen's hands are roaming about Jared's chest, grazing his nipples, until they meet the waistband of his jeans. He's already achingly hard when Jensen's hands open his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers.  
  
“Jen,” he moans. “Please... please.”  
  
“I'm gonna take care of you, baby,” Jensen says in a hushed tone, kissing down Jared's neck. He's jacking him off with sure, careful strokes.  
  
“Do you trust me, baby?”  
  
Jared's answer is merely a breath of air. “... yes...”  
  
Jensen's teeth scrape along his neck, and Jared's back is arching up with pleasure. Then there's a quick prick of sharp teeth.  
  
Jared comes harder than ever in his life.

 

  


  
Somehow, his life has become weird.   
  
He is constantly looking for a job when he is not working in Jeff's club and restaurant or fixing furniture in the apartment building. He has a gorgeous boyfriend who adores him. The sex is great though all they've done until now are hand jobs and blow jobs. And who'd have thought Jensen's bite kink was a major turn on for Jared?  
  
The problem is this spot in his mind where something should be, but isn't.   
  
Jared needs to ask Misha about it. He doesn't know why, but he knows he does. Luckily, he still has his little note book where all his contacts are written down. In high school, he lost his phone once before, learning the hard way the importance of keeping his contacts elsewhere.  
  
When he calls asking about what happened before the fire, Misha's confused.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Uhm... I'm kinda... I don't remember what happened.”  
  
“Oh fuck. The attack?”  
  
“Don't remember that either. Can you tell me what happened before I left the store? What I did?”  
  
“Wait a sec. I was uhm... restocking the shelves. You and Felicia were lazing about-”  
  
“Mish!”  
  
“Yeah, alright. You were showing a photograph of a cute little hooker-”  
  
“WHAT?”  
  
“Yeah, I remember driving through 10th and seeing that guy. Man, if I was into dicks...”  
  
A hooker. 10th and neighboring streets are the red light district, everybody knows that. Why in the world would he have a hooker's picture? Unless... Jensen. But Jensen is working as a waiter. Except where... _nonono_ , that's impossible. Jensen's not a _hooker_.  
  
“Jared?” Misha asks. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Mish. See you,” Jared says, ending the call.  
  
Pacing his living room, he needs a few minutes to think. Then he calls Jeff, asking for the night off due to an emergency.  
  
With his bike it's only a few minutes' ride to 10th. Securing it in a safe place, Jared takes a deep breath. He just needs to know if Misha told the truth, if his boyfriend really is walking the streets.  
  
It's a chilly evening, nevertheless the girls standing under the streetlights or leaning against the walls are scantily clad. When he is passing by, looking surreptitiously at them, they scrutinize him. Some are frowning, others are leering.  
  
Jared is feeling uncomfortable.  
  
At the next corner, the girls are replaced by boys, equally barely dressed. They're so young, _God_ , only teenagers, jailbait, watching the stranger passing warily. Jared wonders what their stories might be, but he doesn't want to know because they're horrible for sure.  
  
He stops dead. _There he is_.  
  
Oh God, Misha was right. There he is, wearing jeans cut at the knees and a too tight t-shirt. He's looking sexy as hell.  
  
Jared doesn't know what to do. Just standing there for the next million years seems like a good choice.  
  
“You high or what?”  
  
Turning his head, Jared sees a black SUV at the roadside, the driver obviously talking to him through the open window.  
  
“You wanna make some money or not?”  
  
“I- uhm...” He doesn't know what to say. _What's happening here?_  
  
“No. Fuck off, you ugly bastard!” Jensen's voice is hard, and he is clearly enraged, though putting his arm protectively around Jared's shoulder.  
  
The driver watches for a moment, then, uttering insults, moves his car two hundred feet to the next streetlight and another young boy.  
  
“What are you _doing_ here?” Jensen's rage is boiling under the surface.  
  
“What are _you_ doing here?” Jared's own rage is barely restrained. “You selling your ass?”  
  
“I-” For a heartbeat, Jensen's eyes are flaring, then he's deflating. “I'm sorry. I should have told you. Explained it. But- it was this I was afraid of. I'm sorry.”  
  
Jensen looks so unhappy, so crushed, that Jared's anger dwindles like a snowflake in the sunshine.  
  
“Alright.” Taking a deep breath, he continues, “I need some time to think. We talk tomorrow.”  
  
Saying this, he turns, walking back to his bike, riding home to his apartment with his lonely, uncomfortable bed in it, and a night without sleep.

 

  
It's a good idea to meet in the park. The day is nice, almost warm, even though under the trees, it's still a bit chilly. The surroundings are neutral enough that Jared can calm down a little. With only a few people in the distance, he is feeling untroubled.  
  
Jensen is sitting right beside him, toying with a blade of grass, equally nervous, it seems.  
  
Jared clears his throat.  
  
“Well,” he says, but Jensen starts talking.  
  
“I really wanted to tell you, but it's a difficult subject. Being a prostitute, I mean. I didn't have much of a choice when I started turning tricks. I mean, at the beginning, I did... all the stuff they wanted me to do. But I... then I confined myself to blow jobs and hand jobs. I haven't had sex since... years, I think. I'm clean so I...”  
  
“Wait a sec.” Jared interrupts. “That's all we do, blow jobs and stuff. It's fantastic, believe me, it is, but you're treating me like one of your _johns_.”  
  
Jensen looks up, scandalized. “I'd never do that. What we have... what we do is love. We make _love_ , not have sex.”  
  
Jared's melting, just a little bit.  
  
Jensen continues, “In fact, I know a few hookers that have actual love lives, with girlfriends and boyfriends. They have a family because they're not as messed up as I am.”  
  
Tentatively, Jared's reaching for Jensen's hand.  
  
“You're not messed up, no more than other people. And if you want, you have a family now.”  
  
He's smiling at Jensen, sees the hope in his eyes blossoming.  
  
“You mean... you're not... will you...”  
  
“I won't go, Jensen. And I don't want you to leave either. I want _us_.”  
  
Jensen's beaming like a little sun.  
  
“But-” Jared says.  
  
“Anything.” Jensen eagerly confirms.  
  
“I want you to stop hustling. I can't share you with other guys.”  
  
That's the thought that mostly kept him awake in the night, Jensen together with other men, spreading his thighs, giving what should only be Jared's. It took him some time to come to terms with Jensen's hustling, but he just can't bear the thought of having to share him.  
  
Jensen's mouth on his pulls him from his thoughts. The kiss is ravenous, possessive.  
  
“I'll quit. I'll do anything for you to stay. But-” Jensen's voice is wavering, his enthusiasm skimming down until there's only unease left. “I need to tell you some more, but not here. Can we go to your place or mine? Please?”  
  
He is biting on his lower lip, rolling it between his teeth.  
  
Jensen is gorgeous, blanketing Jared under the trees, shades dancing over his pale skin, the sun occasionally highlighting his freckles.  
  
Jared is so in love with this man, it hurts. Whatever it is that Jensen wants to tell him, whatever problem it is, they need to work it out. He can't be without him, doesn't want to.  
  
Cupping Jensen's face with his hands, he says, “Jensen, I lo-”  
  
Jensen is jerking back.   
  
Something punches into Jared's chest, hurting him, forcing the air out of his lungs.  
  
There are red dots and splatters on Jensen's face. There is blood in Jared's mouth, tasting metallic and violent.  
  
“Somebody call 911!” Jensen screams at the top of his voice, tearing at Jared's clothing.  
  
“Jen... “ Jared says, closing his eyes. “I'm so tired.”  
  
No way can he stay awake. He is tired and so, so cold, and he wants to rest in Jensen's arms.  
  
“Baby, stay with me.” Jensen's fingers are pawing at Jared's face, and it's nice to feel them as the last thing before sleeping. “Stay with me. Please.”

 

 

 **Chapter 4 -** **Jensen**  
  
What was he thinking?  
  
Seriously – _what was he thinking?_  
  
Biting Jared was like a dream come true. He tasted and smelled so good, Jensen just couldn't contain himself. The few drops of blood he swallowed were like... Christmas, and freshly baked pastries, and _home_. As if... as if Jared was the perfect match, Jensen's Mr Right, the one and only.  
  
When Jared broke down and passed out, it was like Jensen was kicked out of paradise.  
  
Now, Jensen is pacing Jared's bedroom. His boyfriend is sleeping peacefully on the bed, his cheeks flushed, his breaths regular.  
  
Jensen is pacing the bedroom because this thought is so disturbing. _As if they were both meant for each other_.  
  
He never was the religious type. When he realized that his dad was not a hero, but an unconcerned asshole, he also lost the little faith he had. Then Ty happened, and Jensen decided that there was neither Heaven nor Hell because otherwise he would be doomed.  
  
He is not a bad person – if he is a person at all, still waiting on that verdict –, trying to make his living. By turning tricks, yes. He never hurt another human being though.  
  
That's why he doesn't know how he deserved Jared, how his karma got so good to get a Jared for himself. He just brought himself to simply enjoy the cosmic gift, and now he fucked it up. _Big time_.  
  
Finally, Jared stirs on the bed. Jensen wants to see with his own hands that he's fine, but he keeps a distance. That _scent_ is still there, lingering deliciously, whispering _try me_ with a hint of _Jared_ and _mine_.  
  
Confessing his nature as being a _kink_ is weird. It's like describing breathing as a hobby, but he doesn't know what to tell. It's too soon to tell a truth Jensen himself is unsure about.   
  
Under the pretense of getting food, he bolts out of the apartment. He is uncomfortable with his condition himself, but here is Jared _enjoying_ it, the evidence is clearly visible.

 

  
Three pizzas are not too much when you can't decide what to eat. Or what to tell. Jensen is happy with following Jared's lead who seems to be happy with innuendos and kissing so he doesn't speak of those minor issues like the true nature of his _kink_ or how he earns a living. Talking about being a creature out of a bad fantasy novel or how to blow other guys is something Jensen would rather not do.  
  
Yes, he is an honest-to-goodness chicken.  
  
In spite of that, he is not backing down the next day when Lehne refuses to pay him. Jensen can be a scary son of a bitch, and right now, he is furious enough to be one. As a matter of fact, his canines elongate a bit.   
  
Lehne always rubbed him the wrong way, and now, refusing to pay Jensen off, he'd be as good as dead if Jensen hadn't been able to control himself. It's his threat to spread the word about Lehne's business methods – drugging his own employees – that makes him fold. Jensen even gets a bonus for his good work – to keep his mouth shut.  
  
After getting his stuff from his workroom, he says goodbye to his fellow workers in the break room. Jensen is too solitary, that's why he doesn't have friends – except Jared, and it's not easy being a nice guy when having an identity crisis – but most of the guys are sad to see him leave. Tom and Mike, huddled together on the old raggedy couch as they usually are, seem genuinely sorry, hugging him and patting his back.  
  
Fortunately, Tahmoh is nowhere to be seen, and Jensen is glad. That is, until he's leaving the building through the rear exit.  
  
There he is, hidden in the shadows of the back alley, reeking of arrogance and curdled milk, working on a young man who smells like clouds. It's weird for him to work during his break and, in addition, off the premises. And to cap it all off, the bastard's usurping Jensen's specialty, judging by the blood on the guy's throat.  
  
Jensen snorts. Blood play is not an art for any man. But he doesn't care anymore, he's out. This is the last he is seeing of Lehne and his club. Jensen is on his way to Jared and a better life. He is working the streets again, but his life will take a turn for the better, eventually.  
  
Thinking about the money he got from his ex-employer, there is only one way for Jensen to spend it. His boyfriend needs a new means of transportation.

 

  
He shouldn't work when he is on his time off. But sometimes he's just greedy, and the guy smells nice, and that's why he agrees. It's a quick blow job and more gulps of blood than he actually needs. Afterwards, leaving the club's restrooms, he sees Jared waiting the tables. He looks good enough to eat in his tight jeans and white working t-shirt, but why of all things had Jensen decided to turn tricks _here_ , at his boyfriend's workplace? He didn't know Jared was waiting the tables here, now that he does, it is leaving a sick feeling in his guts.  
  
He just wants to escape undetected, but that asshole in the back booth is obstructing his plan. He declares open season on the guy when he gropes Jared's indeed nice ass.   
  
His mind is only capable of one thought – _mine_ –, and Jensen had never thought how staking his claim could turn his Jared on, resulting in blow jobs and some heavy cuddling in Jensen's bed.  
  
He has never been this happy.  
  
Deeming it the right time, he starts _Operation Bicycle_. Once he knows what Jared needs, it's pretty easy to buy a new bike for his boyfriend. It's only a little effort to make it look like an older one, some scratches, a little dirt. Jared's face is worth the trouble  
  
“What's that?” he asks incredulously.  
  
“I'd reckon it's a bike, dude.”  
  
Jared rolls his eyes. “I know that it's a bike. What do you want with it?”  
  
Jensen can't stifle a smug grin. “It's for you. It came to my mind that I stored it. I don't use it, that's why I want you to have it.”  
  
“It's for me? Jensen. I-I can't...”  
  
“Yes, you can. I want you to have it.”  
  
Jared's hazel eyes are big and shining with unshed tears. It's a sight to break anybody's heart, and Jensen is no exception.  
  
“Oh, come here,” he says, holding him tight. Jared's odor is fresh like a summer rain. “The bike's for you, really.”  
  
“I'm gonna pay you back.” Jared says, pressing his face against Jensen's shoulder.  
  
“No need to. I just want to see you happy, and I know that you need a bike to go visit your dad. I really don't need it, but you do.”  
  
Lifting his head, Jared looks into his eyes, smiling uncertainly. “I – thank you. But I want to pay you back, somehow.”  
  
After a beat, he continues, “I'm good at screwing. I-I mean I could mount the shelves in your living room.”  
  
Laughing low at the image of a bare-chested Jared _mounting_ his shelves, Jensen responds, “Yeah, I'd like that.”

 

  
Working together is fun, even though Jared is doing the actual work. Jensen is helping as good as he can, hand feeding muffins when Jared's hands are dirty, checking for injuries – yeah, ok, there's no need to check these wonderfully sculpted abs when he scratched his fingers.  
  
It's fun until Jared mentions Lehne's goons.   
  
Lehne is the only one who knows Jensen as Sam Winchester. Jensen is not scared, he can take it up with the goons and Lehne.  
  
He is more scared of revealing his secret to Jared. _Sweet, innocent, lovable Jared_ who promises to wait until he is ready to tell him about johns and working the street. He needs a diversion, and what's better than a hand job?   
  
Jared's skin is soft and warm against his hands, his leaking dick hot and silky, his scent changing with every new peak of pleasure – dark musk, earth, and lemon. He is sighing and moaning, and it's enough to arouse Jensen until he is aching. But then Jared smells so deliciously wrought with pleasure, he just has to taste him, just a few drops of _Jared_.   
  
“Do you trust me?” he asks, and Jared's answer is not more than a breath.   
  
Jared's eyes are closed, his pink tongue is peeking through his lips. He looks sensual and debauched.  
  
Jensen's tongue is searching for the perfect spot, moistening the long column of blissful flesh, tasting sweat and salt. There it is, the perfect spot, waiting for him, warm and tender. Jensen's teeth scratch the skin, then break it. It's only a tiny wound, but it's enough for some drops of blood. They taste like Heaven and Hell and bliss, like Jared and winter and summer and sea.  
  
Jensen comes untouched, just from tasting and scenting _Jared._

  


  
  
Life is wonderful.   
  
His boyfriend is the most gorgeous and adorable man he has ever met. His little black kitten – he still refuses to name his pets because they are not pets, but _food_ –, well, Kitty seems to back down or at least be in a forgiving mood, not scratching at his feet when he brings food.  
  
Yes, life is wonderful.  
  
Until he sees Jared standing at the street corner in the night. He is standing there, looking with wide eyes at Jensen working, and this is what he was afraid of.   
  
He lost his love because he was too chicken to tell the truth, at least a part of it. Now Jared knows about him, but he couldn't explain himself, had no chance to say that he'd rather work as a waiter or a bagger.  
  
He tries to drink himself into oblivion with whiskey and vodka, but it doesn't work. Then he tries to get inebriated by bleeding a drunk man, but that doesn't work either. The rest of the night, he is sitting on his couch, petting his kittens, nursing his heartbreak.  
  
In the morning, after a night without sleep, he gets a text saying to meet Jared at noon in the park. Hope is not dead yet, raising its tired head as Jensen showers and shaves. While he's not eating his breakfast, hope evolves into a full-blown panic. _What if Jared wants him to go? What if he says to get lost?_  
  
When they finally meet at the park, Jared is obviously nervous. He is fiddling with the hem of his button-down, and Jensen understands. There is too much at stake.  
  
Jensen is still scared that his boyfriend wants to break up. He'd do anything for Jared, so it's easy to promise to stop hustling. If this is all Jared wants him to do, he can do it easily.  
  
Kissing Jared is inevitable. The sweet taste and soft texture of his lips are pleasures Jensen can't resist.  
  
He can't believe that he is getting a second chance. That is, if he can make Jared understand his... _condition_. He can't tell here, though, where people are milling about.   
  
“Can we go to your place or mine? Please?”  
  
Jared's looking at him, eyes shining. He is so gorgeous, so wonderful, Jensen just can't believe his luck.  
  
“Jensen, I lo-”  
  
Something is hitting him, going through his back straight through his chest. Blood's splattering everywhere between the both of them and Jensen has the urge to _kissbitedrink_ for a moment. Jensen can't comprehend where the blood is coming from, but it's everywhere, tasting like Jared because it is Jared's.  
  
_Jared's blood is everywhere._  
  
“Somebody call 911!” he screams at the top of his voice.   
  
Tearing at Jared's clothing, he sees a hole in his button-down, in his t-shirt, and in his chest. There's a _hole_ in Jared's chest leaking a stream of blood.  
  
“Jen... “ Jared says, closing his eyes, his voice faint and cold. “I'm so tired.”  
  
Jensen tries to stem the flow of blood, but it's too much, leaking through his fingers.  
  
“Baby, stay with me.” His fingers are leaving red stains in Jared's face, red flowers in a field of snow. “Stay with me. Please.”  
  
With every heartbeat, life is running through his digits, seeping down pale skin, vanishing into the grass. He has to staunch it, has to keep it inside this body that is slowly growing colder. There is only one way, one chance.  
  
Jensen licks at the wound, pressing his tongue into it. He has only ever sealed the tiny damages caused by his teeth, but this one, this is too big, too serious to heal with saliva.  
  
There's no time to savor the blood's taste, its multifarious flavor. There's just the urge to keep it inside his boyfriend.  
  
By the time the medics arrive, Jensen's still pressing his face against Jared's chest, sobbing.

 

  
He puts his jacket on so they don't see the bloodstain on his back and tells them the stains on his front are from Jared's blood. He says, _yes, he's my boyfriend_ and _no, I don't know who did this_ but that's a lie. He knows for sure who did this, but he has to take care of Jared first.  
  
He sits in the hospital's waiting room, feeling numb, until a kind nurse tells him to clean himself and change, handing him some scrubs. Standing in the restroom in front of the mirror, he can see his pale, bloodstained face that is still pale after cleaning. The pain in his chest caused by the bullet eases soon, the pain in his chest caused by the bullet hitting Jared doesn't.  
  
He sits in the waiting room, waiting for news. Two police officers come, asking about what happened. He tells them what he knows without telling them what he knows. The more he thinks through this mess, the more he's seething with rage though he doesn't show it, keeping his cool on the outside.  
  
He sits in the waiting room, still waiting. Hours later – it's almost dark outside –, the doctor finds him, telling him that Jared was lucky. Fortunately, he didn't lose as much blood as might be expected, there was only an entrance wound, no exit wound which would have caused a blood loss too great for the doctors to handle. He is in an induced coma now for the next days. He will make a full recovery, even if it will take a long time.  
  
_Jared will live._  
  
Sitting in the waiting room, he cries.

 

  
He is allowed to visit for a few minutes.   
  
Machines are breathing for Jared, nursing him, keeping him alive. He is pale, looking tiny and vulnerable in the hospital bed, his hands cold. How can this big, overeager puppy look so tiny?   
  
It's Jensen's fault that he almost died. After years of working for Frederic Lehne, he assumed he could just walk out without further consequences. That a little threat would keep him covered. He was such a fool, and Jared is paying the price.   
  
Although it's his fault, Jensen is getting off scot-free. All that remains are the stains on his clothes, the bullet went right through his ribcage, no harm done, above all no permanent damage. That's because he is a freak and a fool, getting his boyfriend killed. Maybe he should leave, go to LA or even South America.   
  
Walking out on Jared is impossible, though. It may be the wise thing to do, but it's impossible. The man lying pale and helpless in the bed in front of Jensen is what keeps him alive, maybe even human.   
  
He will live, the doctor said, but it hurts so much just looking at him.   
  
The nurse checking on Jared a few minutes later is sympathetic. She says 'the poor boy' and 'I hope they get this sniper'. Nevertheless though, Jensen has to leave. He was only allowed to see him because there's no one left of his family.   
  
He is walking home because he needs time and air. His feet are moving without instruction, as his mind is planning cold revenge on the man responsible for shooting his love. He remembers when Jared told him about the goons asking for Sam Winchester. They probably saw Jared with Jensen, and knew that where they found one, they'd find the other.   
  
There is bloody dirt under his feet. How he ended in the park, right where it happened, he doesn't know. It's already dark now, the blood on the grass invisible in the darkness, but he can smell it. It's cold sun and lonely Christmas and still Jared. It's mixed with Jensen's blood, smelling of pain and honeysuckle.   
  
Soon, there will be more blood shed. Lehne's, the sniper's, the goons', they are all going to _bleed_. Jensen never chose to be a creature of the blood, refused to accept it, but now he embraces it. Tilting his head back, closing his eyes, he breathes long, deep breaths. Breathing in and in and in.   
  
Scenting the air, he listens to his whispering blood. It tells him about the little girl with the skinned _just a few drops of blood_ knees playing hide and seek with her _that time of month_ mother under the trees. It tells him about the young man and his fiancée making _arousal and drool_ out at the pond. It tells him about the arrogance and the smugness of the man sitting in a tree, and when he is scenting curdled milk, his blood roars a name.

 

  
It's early afternoon when Jensen enters the building through the back entrance, walking cautiously through the corridors. It's better to stay unseen, even though the club will be sparsely attended, only a few patrons in the bar, looking for some pretty flesh. Lehne will already be working in his office, and this is where he is headed.  
  
He dodges the break room where Tom and Mike are drinking coffee, still reeking of cheap soap and the johns of that day, and gives the showers a wide berth. He can smell the guys in there, distinguishable by their own odor.  
  
Jensen is pretty sure he could find his way with his eyes closed. There are so many smells everywhere, in the corridors, behind the doors, and he can make out every single one. It is as if fully embracing his heritage that he doesn't know a thing about makes him whole on another level than Jared does.  
  
He is aching for Jared. His body's already been deprived of his gentle touch for too long, and he hates Lehne even more because his boyfriend was hurt due to his orders to kill Jensen. Most of the time, he hates himself, though at the moment, he is too busy.  
  
There is arrogance and smugness in the air, rolling down the stairs from the upper floor, choking him. Climbing the stairs cautiously, he approaches the smell's origin slowly.   
  
“Welcome back, Mr Winchester.” Tahmoh says, his voice cold, his gray eyes colder.  
  
“So you're a sniper now?” Jensen asks, his voice matching Tahmoh's.  
  
“Oh, I'm a man of many talents. I just needed to get back on Fred's right side after my little... hmm – screw-up.”  
  
“You call shooting Jared a _screw-up_?”  
  
“No. I'd call you surviving a screw-up but I told Fred that shooting you would be a waste of effort. I wanted to go after your neck but he... anyways. The screw-up was that little bastard getting a heart attack while I was feeding.”  
  
Jensen is shocked. “ _Feeding_? You mean you...”  
  
Tahmoh sneers. “Please don't tell me you didn't know about me.” His eyes grow wide. “No way! You have no idea, do you? That's priceless!”  
  
He is laughing, tempting Jensen to smash his face against the wall, _hard_.  
  
Tahmoh's getting serious again. “Apparently, Ty chose you because of your looks, not your brains.”  
  
A shiver runs down Jensen's spine. “You know Ty?”  
  
“Yes, of course. I can still smell him all over you. He has a thing for the pretty ones, the twinks, you're totally his type.”  
  
“Where is he? Where can I find him?”  
  
“You think I'd tell you? Even if I didn't kill you right now? You stupid little fuck.”  
  
Tahmoh's smell changes, it's like iron and grapefruit now, metallic and bitter. Jensen _knows_ that he's ready to attack. He, too, wants to kill Tahmoh. Unfortunately, he also wants some answers.  
  
“Maybe you can do that bad guy monologue? Tell me everything and then kill me?”  
  
Tahmoh laughs out loud. “You mean, like in a bad action movie? Not gonna happen!”  
  
He charges, jumping at Jensen.  
  
Jensen bears the brunt. Grabbing Tahmoh's button-down, they both tumble down the stairs until they come to a dead stop on the landing. His attacker is on his feet a second later, waiting for Jensen to get up.  
  
Jensen heard his ribs crack on the stairs, hitting them hard. Now there's not enough air in the world to breathe through the pain in his side. He is getting up slowly, stifling a groan.  
  
The landing is big enough for them to fight. Jensen's fighting on the back foot in order to watch and assess his enemy, favoring his left side.  
  
Tahmoh is cocksure of himself and his fighting skills. His attacks are furious, bruising Jensen repeatedly, but he is holding his ground. He learned a long time ago on the streets that being too sure of oneself is making you imprudent. And he learned to fight dirty.  
  
Taking a hit to his face, he lets Tahmoh come close, then he grabs him and throws him over the banister rail. He can hear the impact two floors below.  
  
Jensen is breathing heavily. His entire left side is one big bruise, and so is his left leg. He can feel that the healing has already started, but it will take some time. Gingerly, he limps downstairs.  
  
Blood is trickling down from the corner of Tahmoh's mouth, he smells like rain and tar. He is severely injured, both legs are broken, maybe his back, too, but he still tries to get up. Staring down at him, Jensen can see his legs straightening out, bones and skin knitting together.  
  
Tahmoh is healing so _quickly_ , it's uncanny.   
  
“Just a couple of minutes, and I'm good enough to go for round two.” Tahmoh's teeth are red when he is grinning.  
  
“No round two. Gonna finish you off now.” Breathing is hard for Jensen. His ribs are poking his lung a bit too enthusiastically for his liking.  
  
For the first time, the smugness on Tahmoh's face is wavering. “You can't kill me. If you kill me, you'll never know about Ty.”  
  
“I don't care about Ty, I care about Jared. He needs to be safe from you.”  
  
“You don't understand. You _can't_ kill me.”   
  
Tahmoh's legs are completely healed now, as good as new. Jensen needs to act quickly if he wants to avoid another fight to the death.  
  
“Oh yes, I can. You told me how.”  
  
Bending low at the waist, he cups Tahmoh's face with both hands, jerking it to the side quickly. The neck breaks with a loud crack.  
  
Tahmoh is _dead_.  
  
He really is dead. Breaking his neck killed him permanently. Jensen killed another man. Because Tahmoh is dead.  
  
With shaking hands he rubs his face. _He is a killer_. His knees are shaking, too, that must be the reason why he is kneeling on the floor. _Because Tahmoh is dead_. Vomiting is the only thing he can do at the moment, bringing up what feels like all the food he ate in the last year. But Jared is safe now.   
  
He doesn't know where to look for Ty, and with killing Tahmoh, he may have lost the only chance to find him. Maybe he'll never know what he is, how this being not a person works exactly. He has so many questions, but he knows two things for sure: He is a killer, and Jared is safe.  
  
It's worth the anguish and the pain in his heart, maybe even an eternity in Hell.  
  
_Jared is safe._

 

  
Hiding Tahmoh's body is easy. Jensen won't need too long for Lehne, he will be long gone when he is found, and he is not afraid of the investigation that will ensue.  
  
There is someone with Lehne in the office. Standing in front of the door, Jensen can hear the voices behind the wood. Recognizing the voice, he grins, feral and dark.  
  
Indeed, it is the senator. When Thomas recognizes the intruder, his eyes bulge, a blush painting his face and neck crimson, his smell turning green.  
  
“But... but... but...” he splutters.  
  
Lehne, by contrast, is getting pale. The odor he is emanating in hot waves is bitter lemon. He doesn't say a word, but his right hand is crawling slowly towards the desk's edge.  
  
Carefully closing the door and leaning against it, Jensen addresses his ex-employer, his voice cool and dangerous.  
  
“I wouldn't do that,” he says. “See, yesterday someone already tried to shoot me, and it didn't work. Do you really think you can pull a gun before I rip your heart out?”  
  
The thought is only faintly appealing to him. He already killed a man today and doesn't want a repeat, but Lehne doesn't know that. And apparently, his scowl is scary enough for the other man to draw his hand back. And his fangs, of course.  
  
“What... what do you want?” rasps Lehne, cold sweat on his brow. The delicious smell of fear is getting stronger.  
  
Jensen revels in the feeling of superiority. That the king of the underworld knuckles under to Jensen lifts his spirits immensely. That's a good start.  
  
“I don't think you can give me what I want. I want my boyfriend unharmed, I want him safe and in my bed, but that's not possible because _he's in the fucking hospital_! You just couldn't let me go, could you?”  
  
It's only a few steps to the desk cluttered with papers, books, and photographs. With each step Jensen takes, Lehne slides back in his chair until he hits the office cabinet behind him.  
  
Jensen is now standing right beside the senator. He just inclines his head to look at him, showing off his elongated canines, and the senator is shrinking into his chair.  
  
“My gut's telling me that you're more than a run-of-the-mill customer.” Jensen says, addressing him.  
  
Senator Thomas looks like fainting. “P-please... don't hurt me. I can- I can give you money.”  
  
“Money?”  
  
Like a rubber ball, Thomas' head is nodding affirmative, almost at risk to falling off.   
  
A wry grin is spreading on Jensen's face. _Oh, this could be fun_.  
  
Though the figure he names is ridiculously high, the senator is writing out a check before his mouth is closed, handing it to him with a pleading look.  
  
The check in his hands is crisp, the figure on it staggering. The grin on his face is spreading wider. _Oh yeah, this is fun_.  
  
_Let's get the show on the road_.  
  
Pocketing the piece of paper, Jensen sashays past the desk. Grabbing the letter opener from a stack of paper, he stops right behind Lehne who goes stiff as a poker. Bending at the waist and putting his arms loosely around his ex-employer, Jensen tilts his head and whispers into his ears.  
  
“Well, Fred, I know you like to watch. And to record. I'm sure you have some nice videos, the senator and me, that's a pretty hot couple. Eh, no, it's only me that's hot. Right?”   
  
The letter opener is poking Lehne's neck. The poor man nods. Yes, Jensen almost pities him because he knows what's going to happen.  
  
“We'll have a little chat about those videos later. I want to show you first what you're missing out on. You've never had a nice blow job from one of your boys, have you? You don't use them, at least not in that way.  
  
“Senator Thomas!” The senator flinches at the address. “I have one last chore for you before I let you go on your merry way. Come here.”  
  
Thomas is getting paler than the office's walls, but slowly, he is rising, obeying the order reluctantly.   
  
“I think, dear senator, you need to know what it's like to do something you don't want to do but you're forced to do it anyway. I think you know what I'm talking about. Kneel down.”  
  
Obviously, the senator only wants to be on the receiving end, but doesn't want to give head. Anyway, Jensen talks him through getting Lehne's flaccid dick out of his pants, stroking and kissing it. The clicking sound of Jensen's phone startles him.  
  
Jensen really is pleased. Now he has a couple of photographs of the senator kissing another man's dick.  
  
“Well, _senator_. I think you get the gist. If anything happens to me, these pictures will be published. You'll be able to see them _everywhere_. Do you understand? - Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I don't want to see you ever again.”  
  
Two seconds later he's alone with Lehne in the room. Still poking the letter opener into the soft flesh of his neck, he says, “Alone at last.”   
  
“Wh-what are you going to do with me?” Lehne's voice is thick with terror, his scent spiking, and Jensen's loving it.  
  
“Don't panic. I'm pretty sure you'll gonna like it.”

 

  
Jensen takes his time, biting and nibbling at soft flesh, but never tasting blood.   
  
The first two orgasms he gets out of Lehne are quite pleasurable, judging by his moaning and writhing. The next three are demanding, followed by promises of everything for Jensen to stop. Instead he keeps on teasing the skin of Lehne's neck and nape with his teeth, tasting salt and sweat, smelling lemon and cotton.   
  
Lehne, insulting Jensen and attacking him verbally, tries to get rid of his bonds, but the cords strapping him to the chair are tight. Jensen's not overly into bondage – hell, too many sessions with the senator – but he quite likes the view.   
  
After orgasm number seven – the come is long gone, only a few drops of a clear fluid are ejaculated –, Lehne bursts into a flood of tears, uttering nonsense. He gives away the combination for the safe and the passwords for his computer after the next one, before losing consciousness.   
  
Jensen takes every single video he finds in order to destroy them later. He doesn't want to ruin the hookers' lives even more, and there's enough evidence on the computer to cause the clients a lot of trouble. He's copying, and deleting, and sending emails for almost an hour, and transfers most of Lehne's money to homeless charities and animal shelters.   
  
Before he leaves, he makes sure to not leave traces – save for the big, black mustache he draws on Lehne's face with a Sharpie.   
  
This was more fun than killing the bastard who will soon be too busy dealing with the police and his furious clients. Now that there's nothing left to do, Jensen can go home.   
  
Home is where Jared his. He still has to tell him about his diet, he will wait though, until his boyfriend is well again. He's hoping that Jared won't leave him, but if need be, he'll wait for him as long as he needs to.   
  
The sun is setting when he enters the street, carrying a duffel bag full of porn videos and a valuable check in his pocket. It's going to be a beautiful spring evening, the flora blossoming in anticipation of summer, birds tweeting and chirping.   
  
Life is good, and Jensen is going home.   
  
~fin~


End file.
